by Kim Faulks
“Sure, Philip, no problem.” Colton glared. He was tired of this man already. “Only, where do you suggest I set this up, and with what, might I add?”
The bastard looked down his nose at him. He hated people like Philip, smug, self-righteous robots who believed they owned the world and everyone in it. People like Philip and Rachel were all the fucking same. They thought they were too good for him. He nodded while the stupid fuck droned on and on. He’d bide his time, waiting for the right moment to show them just how wrong they were.
Colton cast his gaze over his left shoulder, to where Rachel stared at him. Rachel Banks. Senator Richard Banks’s daughter, what an interesting turn of events. No doubt, she was the reason they were all here.
His right hand ached like an old wound as an image came to life in his mind. Senator Banks sat behind a desk, his hands folded in front while he stared at him impassively. “I don't want any problems, Mr. Morris. Can I trust you’ll handle this?”
Colton had nodded. “Of course, senator. I’ll handle this personally.”
Senator Banks nodded, pleased. “And this is not to be connected to me in anyway, do I make myself clear?”
Colton smiled. Perfectly clear.
He’d smiled then, just as he did now, until he thought about why Rachel would act like she didn’t know him. His memory of her was clear, unlike everything else. When he woke lying next to the blonde, he’d been confused. Hell, he still felt as though he’d taken a blow to the head and his brain was still frantically trying to put the pieces together. His memories of certain things were still a blur. Like how he’d gotten here. He shook his head. The black holes of his past niggled at him, urging him to dig a little deeper.
“Are you listening to anything I’ve been saying?”
His attention was yanked back to the present. Philip glared at him as he wiped at the glistening trails of sweat that cascaded down his brow.
Colton opened his mouth to speak, to be the fucking yes-man that he’d been up until this point. But how would subservience help him in here? Would he be content to let this shell of a man dictate to him? He needed to be careful, yes, and not cause any waves. But he was no one’s bitch, not without compensation. There was nothing this man could give him that he couldn’t reach out and take for himself.
As usual, he searched for guidance inside himself. How he longed to hear his mother’s words of wisdom right now. The cruel ridicule, which had stifled not just the boy, but the man he’d turned out to be. Even after her death, all these years later, he still yearned to hear her. And in those perfects moments, the seconds of pure silence before he slipped into a dreamless sleep, she would come back to him.
Your father should’ve killed you at birth, you sniveling little piece of shit. I never wanted you. A mistake, that’s what you were, a goddamn mistake. You hear me? You hearing me, boy?
They said the dead didn’t lie, but in his case, neither did they tell the truth.
He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Philip to make his own fucking piss-hole for the women. He had better things to do, like work out how to get the fuck out of here. But he never got a chance to say a word.
The shriek of metal on metal had him spinning. Out of nowhere, a door slid upwards from the floor, cutting them off from the doorway and separating Mark and Jason from the rest of the group.
He shot forward, reaching the metal door as it clicked into place. “Hey! Mark, Jason can you hear me?” At first, he heard nothing except the cries of the others behind him. “Please be quiet!”
The sound died down. He ran his hand over the smooth surface, feeling for a trigger, and then moved to the doorframe, finding only the splintered wood and no catch. He pressed his ear against the door. There was nothing but silence. The cool steel of the door against his face filled him with a detached stillness. He waited and listened.
Colton was aware of movement behind him. A big biker pushed his way through the others to stand beside him. “How many are in there?”
“Two, Mark and Jason. They went in there to search for a way out of here.”
The biker nodded. “They must’ve hit a trigger and caused this door to slam shut. Can they hear us?”
Colton shook his head. “I don’t think so. I can’t hear them.”
They both pressed their faces against the metal. Colton strained, listening for a scrape, a sound, anything to know they were alive. All he heard were his own breaths. Suddenly, a scream echoed through the door.
The sound was cut short. Words replaced the piercing sound, although they were just as terrifying. “Jesus, no! Jesus… Jesus. No. Noooo!”
He stumbled backward, knocking into someone behind him. On the other side of the door, he was sure hell was unleashed. Colton could do nothing as the blood-curdling howls grew louder, until the screams sounded, not of men, but of the boys they once were.
A ripping sound filtered through the door. The big man beside him slammed his body into the frame. The steel vibrated, but held fast.
Someone behind him started to cry and then another, and another. Soon, their cries bordered on howls. And even in the midst of chaos, Colton felt nothing, no feeling of terror or sorrow for these men behind the door—nothing. He was as inhuman as the steel.
The shine on the door looked out of place in this derelict room. The surface was shiny and clean, as though someone cared about the goddamn thing. There was something going on here, something more than just a ransom demand... something Colton wasn't quite able to grasp. A chill swept along his spine, bringing with it the firing of his nerves. He stood motionless, listening to the chilling howls, and was swept away.
He perched at a precipice of understanding. An understanding of everything that was happening to him—but he felt as though this knowledge hovered just out of reach. He pushed his mind further. He could understand why he was here—he could understand why they all were here. A flicker of knowledge came to life inside of him. Sparks of light burst like fireworks. He jolted, like he’d been shocked.
“You okay?” He focused on the pinched brow of the biker who drilled him with a stare. Colton tried to open his mouth to say something, to act like nothing was happening, while inside he was reeling.
He stumbled, shouldered aside by the cheap skank who’d watched him earlier. His stomach lurched, squirting hot bile into his mouth, stinging his nose. He could smell her stench from where he stood. “Fucking whore.”
She swung toward him, glaring, although he was sure he’d kept the words to himself. Colton swallowed the acid, trying to get his shit together. He was losing it, big time. Somehow, in the midst of his turmoil he’d failed to realize the room on the other side of the door had fallen silent. The eerie stillness was more harrowing than the screams.
“Do you think you can find a way in, Slade?”
Colton stared at her while the biker hit the door. The booming sound deflected his attention as he took in her face, her body. She could be a stunner, if she wasn’t so trashy. Trashy and used. Colton’s heart raced. Her thin arms bulged with tight little muscles. Colton remembered how she reacted, swinging her fist and screaming her filthy little whore words.
The air around him grew heavy. He tried to breathe, but his chest wouldn’t move. The need to touch, to hold—to hurt—reared inside of him. His weakness was unrelenting. He knew these thoughts were dangerous, but he couldn’t stop himself. Her chewed nails looked ragged. His eyes drifted back to her body. Her tits weren't as big as he liked—a shiver raced through his body—but they’d do. He could already imagine them, soft, pale, and pliable under the unyielding pressure of his grasp. He liked milky skin the best. It showed the bruises, the bites, the marks on their throats and their thighs—his marks.
She was a fighter, hardened by life. He licked his lower lip, unable to take his eyes off her. She’d go down swinging, this one. She’d fight all the way to the very end.
“You got something to say to me?”
Reality burned like a blinding light as he crashed back to aware
ness, meeting her hostile glare. He shook his head and held out his hand. “No, sorry. I was just sure for a moment that we’d met before. The name’s Colton.”
She stared at his outstretched hand, making no offer to take it. “Morgan.”
Slade worked beside her, not diverting his eyes from the task, but Colton heard every sound and watched every movement. The biker dropped his hands, staring at the door. “The switch has to be under the floor. I don’t see a way to break into the room.”
Colton met his gaze. “So, I take it that you do this a lot, then?”
There was no answer. He didn’t expect one. The door made a loud click. So loud, Colton could feel the metal vibrate though he wasn’t touching the door. He jumped back, staring as the shiny steel gate disappeared into the floor, leaving the hole to gape like an open wound.
He didn't want to see what was left inside the room. Colton froze, rooted to the spot. That sense of knowing returned—that sense of foreboding scared the hell out of him.
Slade stepped inside first. He didn't even look at the door as he entered, leaving Colton feeling like a fucking wimp.
“You coming?”
The biker waited, his hard gaze measured Colton.
He suppressed a shiver and then followed. The smell hit him instantly. The stifling heat combined with the overwhelming smell of piss was like a blow to his gut. He reached for the wall, steadying himself with one hand while the other covered his mouth. Jesus... he clamped his jaw tight to stop from heaving.
One man stood in the middle of the room, his back to them. Dark hair and black T-shirt and jeans—it had to be Jason. Colton scanned the corners of the room. There was nothing else in here, so where the hell was Mark?
Slade took a wide berth around the man, stopping at his side. “Hey buddy, you okay?”
“His name is Jason,” Colton followed Slade in. “Jason, you okay?”
Colton never took his eyes off the silent man as he stopped on the far side of Slade. Jason stared into nothing, his eyes wide and frozen. Colton followed the biker’s gaze and then piss-filled room seemed to disappear.
He cleared his throat. “Jason, can you hear me?”
A woman cried out, drawing Colton’s attention back to the doorway. Rachel jostled for a view between a fat chick and the Mohawk-wearing idiot who still had blood crusting his nose. Morgan was the only one who’d followed them inside, her focus fixed on Slade.
He wanted to grip her jaw and force her to look at him, instead he snapped at the others. “Stay back. That door could slide up any second!”
Colton’s anger possessed him, making him forget about everything else. A blur caught his attention. He spun, but it was too late. Jason swung at him, throwing fist after fist. One blow caught Colton on the head, knocking him backward. Colton raised his hands to protect his face and felt his arm yanked from his shoulder. He was stunned, fighting off Jason as though he were a vicious animal. Colton felt harsh puffs of air strike his cheeks each time the man’s teeth gnashed together.
“Come on, Jason. Let him go. Easy now.” Slade wrestled Jason off him. The fucking guy was insane, lunging for Colton like a lunatic.
“Jesus Christ!” Colton scrambled to his feet.
Jason thrashed in Slade’s grip, scoring a direct hit on the bikers shin. The big man faltered. He almost lost his grip. His deep voice turned soft, trying to soothe the enraged man in his grip. “Easy Jason, you’re safe now. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Jason lashed out like a broken animal. His eyes were vacant. Did he even know where he was?
Colton and Slade stared at each other. Colton was scared to move or speak, fearing any sound would set the guy off again. The biker lowered Jason to the ground like a baby, and then straightened. “Well, that was interesting.”
Colton touched the crown of his head and pulled his hand away, checking for blood. “Yeah, you can say that again. What the hell just happened?”
Slade looked down at Jason. Pressuring the outlaw was the last thing Colton wanted to do. But they had to find Mark. This could be their only chance of getting out alive.
“Slade, we need to know where Mark is. If he got out of this hell hole, so can we.”
The biker nodded and stepped closer. Jason’s vacant expression didn’t have Colton fooled. His head still throbbed from the last attack. Colton dropped to his haunches, ready to move. “Jason, where's Mark? Where did he go, buddy? Can you tell us?”
Jason stared into the middle of the room as though no one spoke. But his gaze was so intent, Colton wondered whether the guy saw something the rest of them didn’t. Spittle ran from the corner of his mouth, mixing with the blood on his chin. Colton glanced behind him, catching Morgan as she pointed. “What's that in his hand?”
Colton jerked away from the guy, but ran a nervous gaze over Jason’s bleeding fists. “What?”
“There's something inside his hand. No, his other one.”
She was right. There was something dangling between his fingers—is that string? “What the fuck is that?”
Slade moved closer, reaching out to grasp Jason wrist. “Jason, buddy. What's that in your hand?”
The glaring sunlight seemed to shift. Colton saw a shadow, though the light blazed as bright as ever. The shadow… the shadow moved inside of him. He was transfixed as Slade captured Jason’s hand and dragged the hand closer to his nose. The motion seemed unnaturally slow, like the biker moved through water. Colton could see that string perfectly now. The strand swayed in the air as the shadow inside grew darker… colder.
Each breath seemed to take forever, while in his head, sparks collided to form thoughts, patterns which had moments ago hovered out of reach. Slade gripped Jason's wrist with one hand and tried to pry open his fingers with the other. The pale cord danced and wriggled like a goddamn worm. Jason held tight, unwilling to divulge his secret. The tighter Jason held on, the more determined Slade became, tearing at Jason’s fist while Colton wondered, Where the hell has Mark gone?
Slade dug into the tips of Jason's fingers, bending them back at the first knuckle, forcing his bones to grind and pop as each finger released.
The sound triggered a memory in Colton, and in a rush, the past pushed its way to the surface.
He could feel himself falling and knew the floor wouldn’t save him. He hit the ground with a thud. Pain flared and was left behind—along with the present—as Colton slipped into the past. Something wrapped around his throat. He clawed at the invisible stricture as his airway was squeezed tighter, tighter… dear God, please no....
“Please, he groaned. “Please, I beg you.”
A voice snarled in his ear before he was wrenched upright. “Then beg, you sick fuck.”
A sense of familiar kicked him hard. I know that voice… I….
“No one can hear you,” said the voice.
He opened his mouth to speak and his finger was yanked back. Pain flared in his hand. He screamed instead.
He pitched his body from side to side, straining against the rope binding him, riding waves of agony. His head swam, giddy with pain and nausea. He slowed the motion as the pain eased. I’m not going to survive this… I’m not going to…. Each whimper clawed the back of his throat. Colton slumped against the chair, tasting blood.
“Scream all you want. You, of all people, should know that no one can hear you in here. There's nowhere to go. Except in a bag… piece… by… piece.”
A dull shine of metal caught his attention. He strained and panic seized his heart in an icy grip. No, Jesus… no! He kicked, sliding the tops of his shoes against the floor in an attempt to get away. “I have money. I can pay you!”
The short, curved, blades opened and closed and the newly-sharpened edges glinted like diamonds in front of his face. His attacker wrenched his next unbroken finger free. The joint popped loudly under the strain. “It's too late for bribery, Mr. Morris. You should’ve thought about that before.”
The hard edge of th
e wire cutter bore down on his skin, biting into his knuckle. He screamed and tried his best to speak and make this stop. To make this mistake go away. The searing agony was too cruel—too cruel for words—as the crunch of bone sounded.
Crunch. Snip.
Colton prayed for shock to take the pain away, prayed to lose consciousness. Mother, please help me. But she refused him salvation, just like she’d always done. Cruel hands worked the wire cutter open and closed, dislodging his cartilage and flesh from between the hinge.
Colton opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came but a dry hiss. He swallowed, wetting the back of his throat, trying his best to survive. All he could manage was a whisper so faint, he barely heard the word himself. “Anything.”
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
He was wrenched forward so that he stood, still lashed to the chair. “I'll give you anything you want…. anything!”
“Oh, you will, you piece of shit. I have no doubt about that. I’m gonna make you fucking pay.”
Colton came back to the oven-roasted, glaring room, lying on the ground, his last whimper still fading in the air. He lifted his hand to his face and counted each finger twice, just to make sure they were still attached to his hand. The base of each finger shrieked with pain, but there was no blood, no deep cut… nothing. Colton wiggled each one in turn and at the base, pain flared, but he saw no wound, except the one his hallucination left behind in his mind. Fear wrung sweat from him, plastering his shirt to his underarms. He smelled his own stench and inside, panic tightened his guts like an over-tuned guitar string.
“You got some fucking demons after you, my friend?” Slade stood over him, his hand outstretched. Colton said nothing, but took his hand, allowing Slade to pull him upright.
“What happened?” Someone called, peering from the doorway.
“Nothing, I... fell, that's all.” Colton caught Morgan's stare and looked away, pretending to brush the filth off his pants. He didn't give a shit about her. He didn’t give a shit about any of them. In here, it was every man for himself. Soon he’d be long gone, leaving her to rot in this hell, along with her boyfriend.